A Quincy's Pride
by Celestia Craven
Summary: Harry Potter can see them, the spirits of the dead. He is adopted by the Ishida family and has lived his life respecting his gift. But when he's pulled in three different directions - Shinigami, Wizard, and Quincy - who will he choose to fight for? He...


**Story** : A Quincy's Pride

**Disclaimer** : I don't own _Harry Potter or _Bleach.__ Trust me. I think I'd know.

**Author** : ChocolateCherryGenesis

**Summary** : Harry Potter can see them, the spirits of the dead. He is adopted by the Ishida family and has lived his life respecting his gift. But when he's pulled in three different directions - Shinigami, Wizard, and Quincy - who will he choose to fight for? He doesn't have much time . . .

**Written** : Nov. 20-23. 2011

**Published** : March 27, 2012

**Author's Note** : You'll have to keep in mind that this won't be very long. The main focus of this fanfic is the bond between him and his adopted family, as well as his struggles to balance three different lives. So, yeah, complex stuff going on that will hopefully challenge me. ^_^ I'm looking forward to improving my skills.

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

Harry Potter and the Hollow

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><p><em>You fear that which you cannot see. However, when you finally see that which you fear, you will regret it. You will rue the day you started to see that which you used to ignorantly fear. For, what is actually there is far more fearsome that that you could imagine . . . <em>- I came up with this on my own. ^_^

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><p><strong>Karakura Town, Japan - 7:30 P.M., Friday<strong>

"Wha?" A man said, looking around wildly. "Who's there? You trying to scare us, punk? You got a death-wish? Speak!"

The perspective moved to a figure hiding in the shadows. His emerald eyes sharpened, as his mouth opened to reply in a youthful but strangely serious and monotone voice. "You cannot stay here."

The figure's face momentarily appeared in the light, unseen to the group of adults, as he flew from one shadow to another.

Harry "The Ghost" Potter: 15 Years Old

Hair: Black

Eyes: Green

Occupation: High School Student

Special Skill:

The head of the group turned as he heard a rustle, missing the figure as he again changed position. He growled. "Why? This is _our _turf, wannabe!"

"No," The figure said. "I cannot allow that. Do you see what is broken on the walk?" He asked, none of them able to see him for any longer than a mere moment. He quickly flew through the group, punching the leader as he went before rushing away from them again. He smiled in a very un-comforting way.

"He just took down Toshi!" One of them exclaimed.

The figure smirked from his place a short distance from the group. "Do any of you know what that is?" He asked, pointing to a vase on it's side on the ground. The adults looked toward the figure's arm, as it pointed toward the case. Then, the arm and it's attached person disappeared again. "You! Smelly!" He said in an unimpressed, demanding tone, pointing toward one of them from another hiding spot and once again moving out of sight.

"Me?" The man mouthed. Then he answered. "Um . . . It's an gift to a dead kid?" He asked.

Special Skill: . . .

The figure smirked. "Check out the brain on smelly!" He exclaimed, taking him down too with an impressive outstretched kick-in-the-face. He lowered into a crouch. "Do you know _why_ it is on it's side?" He asked, peering behind himself to the group with a dark face.

The adults flinched. "Because . . . we . . . knocked it over with our . . . skateboards . . . ?" One ventured nervously, his voice quieting with each pause.

The figure grinned dangerously, flying forward again. "Bingo!" He said, taking the third out of five down. "Well, then," He said, straightening up from his place where he'd crouched. "You better apologize to _her, _then!" He said, pointing toward the ghost of a young girl.

Harry "The Ghost" Potter: 15 Years Old

Hair: Black

Eyes: Green

Occupation: High School Student

Special Skill: **"He can see ghosts."**

"We won't ever do it again!" They exclaimed, running.

The teen sighed, turning to the ghost. "Sorry about that."

"Don't worry," The ghost said. "I'm the one who asked for a favor."

"Kay," Harry said, once again sighing. "Doesn't anyone have respect for the dead, anymore?" He asked himself, walking away. He called over his shoulder, "I'll bring more flowers tomorrow!" and left into the streets darkened by the late hour.

_It's true. I can see and talk with ghosts._

_I was born with the ability to talk to the dearly departed._

_I don't know why._

The teenager walked into a streetlight like before, showing his appearence. He was clothed in a set of brown trousers, a black t-shirt covered by a gray coat with a red line over a left chest pocket (it had no pocket on the right), a set of plain tennis shoes, a messenger bag on his shoulder, and his raven-black hair pulled back with a clip on one side.

"I'm home," he called out as he walked into an orderly house. He pulled off his shoes and stored them neatly on the rack, before walking toward the kitchen.

Sitting at the table, two people were already eating. Both looked almost eerily similar, with short, black hair, pale skin, and rectangular glasses. Both had a matching serious, logical expression.

The elder one, at least thirty years old, spoke. "You are late, Harry."

The elder and the younger - who was a teenager about that same age as Harry - both searched his face for any hints of a lie as he explained.

"Some un-responsible adults overturned a gift to the dead," Harry said, his own rectangular glasses flashing in the light as he pushed them upwards with his middle finger. "I responded to the situation so they would not soon make the same mistake. I will replace the flowers tomorrow morning before classes," The teen finished.

The adult didn't smile, nor did he show much expression, returning to his meal. But, both teens had lived with him long enough to see the slight twinkle in his eye that betrayed his approval. "I see. Please sit down and insure that you return home promptly in the future," He said, his chopsticks grabbing a clump of rice.

"Understood," Harry answered, sitting in the empty chair and starting on his own bowl of rice.

_Really._

_I have been able to see them for years, and I could feel them before that._

_I can see the dead as well as the living._

After dinner, Harry walked to his room, opening the door and walking inside. On the opposite wall to the left was a window, and to the right was a bed with white sheets. The comforter was white as well, but with one wide, blue stripe intersecting another off-center by a foot to the bottom right as it's only pattern. Next to the bed was a side-table, holding a simple electronic alarm clock and a lamp.

Opposite the bed, a closet door was placed. To the left side of the room, a short distance from the window, a table only two feet high lay against the wall. On the remaining three sides, each side had two small cushions in a plaid blue pattern, the table having six cushions in all.

In the corner between the window and the wall with the door, a plain-ish desk with a chair was placed. A plain blue rug was in-between the closet and the bed.

The room was very similar to it's occupant. Harry had the simple elegance that both his 'brother' and 'father' possessed, though he wasn't actually related to them. He'd lived with them for seven years, now. When he was nine, he'd finally escaped the Dursleys, though he didn't know that until much later.

**Little Whinging, England - 5:00 P.M., Monday. Seven years ago.**

Harry ran from Dudley, swinging around the corner with speed that most couldn't imagine - thanks to the constant Harry-Hunting from his childhood. He screeched to a halt as he came to a dead end. He _had_ to find a way! He just _had_ to! He couldn't- He just couldn't have this happen again!

_Climb the wall . . . ? No, too high._

Harry looked back and forth, looking for a spot to hide. He had already been Harry-Hunted in the morning, and Uncle Vernon had punished him especially today, and Harry was desperate to escape yet another beating. His arm was already fractured. He was reaching his breaking point. He'd been reaching it for a long time, but now he was almost there.

Then, he felt something very strange.

It was like . . . like . . . a volcano suddenly erupting. Harry's vision suddenly allowed many colors and patterns, fuzing until it finally made sense from the painful chaos from before. Then he froze, seeing a man with blood _everywhere._

Harry screamed from fear, Dudley and his gang running into the area - Dudley huffing and puffing - as they saw the nine-year-old fall to the floor. From an above window, a lady saw the boy fall to the floor, pulling her cell phone with her as she ran out her door. "What's going on here?" She asked.

She ran over to the boy, trying to see if he was all right. She felt him flinch, even unconscious, as she lifted him from the ground. She took a look, seeing angry purple-and-green bruises all over him. "Wha . . . ?" She asked. Looking even closer, she saw many small scars. "What happened to the boy?" She asked.

Dudley sneered. "The freak just screamed out of nowhere. We were about to Harry-Hunt," Dudley paused, before catching himself, "I mean, '_follow'_ him and make sure he gets home to do his chores."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "Riiight," She said with unbelief. "I'm calling an ambulance," She told them, pulling out her phone.

[] [] [] [] []

Harry slowly woke up, looking at the white room around him. _Where was he? Was this what a hospital looked like . . . ?_

A few seconds later, the woman from before entered the room. "Hello. My name's Lisa Evans. I saw you passed out in the alley, so I called for an ambulance. Are you all right?" She asked.

Harry slowly nodded. His head was still throbbing from . . . whatever had happened.

"Do you remember what happened?" She asked.

Harry shook his head. "No . . . ma'am."

She smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry. Anyway, a police officer is out in the hall. He wants to ask you a couple questions, but we didn't want to frighten you, so I spoke first."

Harry blinked, but showed his understanding.

The woman opened the door, saying. "Officer . . ." And then she left as an old man with a salt-and-pepper beard entered the room.

"Hey, how ya' doing?" He asked. "The doc says you'll be fine, but it looks like you were pretty beat up. Do you wanna know what they said?" He asked.

Harry was still confused from the entire situation, but he managed to nod.

The police officer pulled out a notepad. "Severe case of malnutrition. Evidence of a few broken bones that didn't heal quite right. Too many bruises to count," He placed his notepad back in his pocket. "So, kid. What's your story?"

"My . . . story?" Harry asked.

The officer tried to explain. "How'd you get injured?"

"Well," Harry said. "Dudley likes to Harry-Hunt, of course. I usually get away just fine, but I was having trouble with my broken arm, today."

"Where'd you get your untreated broken arm?" The officer asked.

Harry nervously replied. "Uncle Vernon punished me a few days ago. I scored higher than Dudley in Math . . ." Harry trailed off, before franticly apologizing. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

The police officer wanted to glare at the thought of this 'Uncle Vernon' but knew that would scare the kid. "Don't worry. It's not your fault. I just want to know what happened that you fell unconscious."

Harry paused. "I don't really remember," He said. But, he'd spoken too early, because images flashed through his mind. He suddenly felt like he had a headache. Gripping his head, Harry spoke. "No . . . I was running away from Dudley's gang, when I saw . . ." Harry scrunched his eyes closed. ". . . _Blood . . . _So much blood. There were lots of lights, and then I can't remember anything else._"_

The police officer sighed. "It looks like you have some slight memory loss. It's pretty standard in traumatic events like this. Anyway, due to the physical evidence of neglect from your relatives, they're undergoing an investigation. If you weren't lying, you'll probably be sent to a orphanage until we figure out what to do."

Harry's eyes widened. "An _orphanage_?" He gasped.

The officer nodded. "It's not as bad as you probably think. Besides, I know a few people who'll be able to help. Anyway, feel better soon. I'll visit with some flowers later," He finished, leaving the room.

**Little Whinging, England. - 7:00 P.M., Sunday. Four Months Later.**

Harry was sitting in the orphanage with the others. It wasn't a bad place to live, really. But he didn't fit. Sure, he was an orphan. But he wasn't quite like the others. He could see things that no one else could. No one else could see the people walking around, through things. No one else could see, as he'd found out while living in the hospital. Unfortunately, that is where many deaths happened, though Harry didn't yet know they were dead. The nurses told him it was just a few hallucinations, so he'd stopped telling them. But he still saw them.

He'd soon learned that whenever he pointed something like that out, people thought he was insane. The only sign of their difference was injuries from accidents, if the accident was recent. Harry had noticed that the blood slowly disappeared with time. Most people looked like normal humans. They walked. They talked. They saw. They cried.

Slowly, Harry grew aware of one simple fact:

They were dead.

Harry could see the dead. He could talk to the dead. He could touch the dead.

He could see the dead as he saw the living.

And no one else knew. Harry couldn't _let_ them know. Adults didn't understand. They didn't _see_. And it wasn't just them. _No one_ saw. No one understood. And so, Harry kept to himself. He'd just escaped from the Dursleys. He didn't want his new home to become anything like it because of his 'freakishness'.

Harry shook himself out of his thoughts as he saw a man enter the orphanage. He was very tall, at least an inch over the matron's head. He was wearing a simple suit, but it seemed high quality. His tie was simple, with diagonal stripes of different shades of blue. The matron pointed at Harry, and Harry felt himself narrow his eyes as he tried to reason what they wanted.

The man stood in front of Harry, without the sympathy or pity that others showed. Yes, they were trying to help. But they didn't understand. And so, the staring and the whispering of 'that poor boy!' became quite old. But this man didn't smile. He simply arranged his glasses with his middle finger and started talking in a monotone voice.

"My name is Ishida Ryuken. I was sent here because of your abnormal healing rate found in hospital tests during your stay with your former guardians. I've been given permission to have a look while here in England for other business," He said.

Harry sighed with relief. "Sure," He said, though he was aware he didn't have a choice.

[] [] [] [] []

Mr. Ishida visited every afternoon for a week, but after that week he'd said he'd have to leave for his home in Japan. However, one day, that all changed.

Harry was walking with the others from school, looking around while at the same time trying to ignore the dozens of people around him that he knew weren't alive. Some of them waved happily at him, since he often brought wildflowers to them. It was a small price to pay to bring them some peace.

Harry looked off to the side as a ghost started running towards him. "Harry! Run!" She shouted.

Harry blinked, unsure as to what was going on. Then he saw it. It was a _monster_. It was black, with a horrible mask of bone on it's head. In it's chest, where it's heart was supposed to be, only a fine, perfect, circular hole was seen. Harry watched as all the ghosts started running, the monster slamming down a post office box in the physical world as it ran after them.

Harry looked toward the rest of the group he was with. Almost fifty students. Harry gritted his teeth. "Guys!" He shouted. "RUN!"

They looked at him with surprise. But, now that they were on guard, they also heard the large thumps of the monster's footsteps, though none could see it. A twelve-year-old stiffened and nodded to the rest. "Let's go!" He shouted, the leader of the group of children.

As they ran, Harry saw the monster freeze and look directly at him. Harry gritted his teeth. ". . . Oh no . . ." He said, running. But it followed him. It didn't even _glance _at anyone else. The monster_ just kept following him._

Harry once again gritted his teeth. "No way!" He exclaimed, before taking off into the alleyways that he'd already quickly studied until they were like the back of his hand. It was the only thing that had kept him safe from Dudley just a few months ago, and now it was all that slowed the monster down.

Harry saw Mister Ishida, but knew it couldn't be him. After all, Mister Ishida couldn't move that fast, and he didn't have a bow made of light. It must have been his imagination.

But, no . . . It _was _Mister Ishida.

Mister Ishida shot his bow, striking the monster with one hit. The monster let out a roar, as it fell to pieces and turned into something resembling dust particles that soon disappeared.

Harry looked toward the man. "Mister Ishida . . . ?"

Mister Ishida somehow made the bow disappear, turning toward Harry. "Are you all right?" He asked.

Harry nodded. "I'm fine. But, what'd you do to that monster?"

Mister Ishida actually appeared speechless for the first time in Harry's memory. "You . . . can see the Hollow?" He asked.

Harry blinked. "What's a Hollow?" He asked, before realization dawned. "Wait. It's that monster, right? And no one else can see it, like ghosts. Can _you _see the ghosts, too?" He asked.

Mister Ishida thought for a long while. After many minutes, he straightened his suit jacket and nodded. "Yes. I am a Quincy. We destroy Hollows. It looks like you have Spirit Energy . . . Something that very few humans have," He said. "If you wish, you can come back with me to Japan. You won't get any training otherwise. You'll never get answers. Very few people can see ghosts; you are incredibly fortunate that we met each other in England."

Harry blinked, but he nodded. "I can't stay at the orphanage. They all are good people, but they will never understand me. I just . . . don't . . . belong in their world," He finished, the nine-year-old unable to explain it quite right. "I could live like them, but I'll never be one of them."

Ishida smirked, his glasses readjusted again. "Very good, Mister Potter. You're quite right. People with Spirit Energy - _humans _with Spirit Energy - will never fit in. They are not dead, but they see the dead. They belong to neither existence. My people, the Quincy, are the only known humans with Spirit Energy. It stays in the family. But you, Mister Potter, _you_ are different. _You_ are not even _Quincy_ . . ."


End file.
